


My Dinner With Harley

by Tyellas



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Cass is offscreen for the shenanigans no worries, Character Study, Dinah's convertible will never be the same, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Food Metaphors, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lesbian Character, Safer Sex, Sex in a Car, Spanking, hope you like Italian food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: Renee Montoya agrees to have dinner with Harley Quinn. She’s sure that flaunting, DGAF Harley has some ulterior motive. And she’s right. Because Harley is out to get laid.
Relationships: Renee Montoya/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	My Dinner With Harley

Amidst a funhouse of mirrors, Harley turned. Her reflection looked good, if she said so herself. Hair freshly dipped and dyed, chassis tight. Her signature dried-blood lips set off her eyes’ glitter, enhanced with smudgy black liner, flaked platinum pigment. Her short ebony manicure was a finishing touch, a heart painted on one thumb, a diamond on the other.

Harley smiled. The mirrors ringed her with her own fierce grin. The Clown Princess of Crime was doing good. Ready to take it up a notch. Starting with her dinner date tonight.

Harley wasn’t in a funhouse, though she’d been enjoying herself. She and Cass were in Gotham’s fashion district, at its most avant-garde boutique. Teenaged Cass, into hoodies and eyeshadow palettes this week, was bored. “Why are you buying a suit jacket?”

Harley turned, smoothing the wide, boxy blazer over her hips. “Hot pink is one of my colors. And I’m meetin’ someone for dinner tonight. Hmmm, do I want the pants or the skirt?”

A sales lackey instantly held them both out to Harley. The pants were enormous bell-bottoms. The skirt was miniscule, pleated and zippered. Both matched the quirky oversized jacket. Any man would’ve been stunned into submission by the miniskirt. But tonight was more intriguing than that.

Cass’s mouth had dropped open. “You’ve got a date? But…but…”

“You remember Renee Montoya? The cop? Birds of Prey?”

Cass slumped. “Oh.”

Harley put her hands on her hips. “Don’t ‘oh’ me young lady. What’s your beef with Renee?”

“She’s the boring one,” said Cass, with the weariness of thirteen-and-a-half. “Dinah, Black Canary, she’s always been super cool. Like, her hair, and her outfits, and she sings. She’d talk to me and stuff when we both lived in Northside. Plus Helena, the Crossbow – I mean, uh, Huntress – she’s all…like…”

Cass mimed shooting a crossbow. “Bang! Pow! Like, she always…and her eye makeup…she’s ripped...” Cass shrugged, blushing at the awesomeness of Helena. “But Renee’s just an old cop.”

Being an old cop in Gotham, Harley thought, took some work. Not a lot of cops made it close to retirement age in Gotham. Harley knew. She’d taken out her share of Gotham’s hapless flatfoots, back in the day. Hadn’t they deserved it, though, writing her off as a skinny girl, the Joker’s moll. Renee, on the other hand, underestimated no-one.

Harley said to Cass, “Renee arrested you, hon. When a lot of cops letcha slip through their fingers.”

Cass kicked the floor. “She felt _sorry_ for me. Tried to get me to talk to a social worker.”

That was why Renee was a survivor. She saw the details, like a down-at-heels kid pickpocketing for a living. Seeing all that would make you crazy, in Gotham: was why Harley had decided to stay crazy. It was definitely why Renee was on the sauce. But everybody had issues in Gotham.

Harley thought, smugly, this was what being a grown-up was. Seeing beyond childish mistakes to take care of herself. She’d admit, she hadn’t thought twice about Renee ‘til she’d gone to break out Cass (and the diamond Cass had swallowed). Renee had tried to stop Harley while wearing a t-shirt that declared _I Shaved My Balls For This._ Hilarious! Then Renee had the nerve to show up swacked for a fight in a funhouse. Who’d have thought the good cop had a screwball streak?

Fighting on Renee’s side had let Harley peep that Renee had a swell body, too, a cop’s hard-wrangling arms and shoulders over a sexy rack. And all of Gotham knew Renee was a grade-A gold-star certified dyke.

Now that Black Mask was down, and Harley was a liberated responsible mature individual thank-you-very-much, she could deal with her seven-week itch. She was a woman. She had needs. And she had Renee Montoya in her sights.

Harley said, to Cass. “You okay hangin’ with Dinah and Helena while Renee and I catch up?”

Cass perked up instantly. “Yeah! You think they’ll wanna play Dungeons and Dragons?”

Cass was also going through a games phase. Harley liked colorful board games, and delighted in showing Cass every card trick going. But Cass wanted to be a ‘dungeon master,’ and that took a couple of players. Dungeons already, Harley reflected. They grew up so fast. 

“They better. If they don’t play nice, tell me and I’ll punch ‘em to the next Renaissance fair.” Harley turned to the sales lackey. “I’ll take the pants too. But I want an alteration.”

* * *

Renee was getting used to her new allies. Helena Bertellini saw the world in black and white. You were her family or her enemy, no in between. So she’d invited Dinah and Renee to join her in her brownstone apartment. Renee lived in short-term studios, moving often, for reasons. So she’d accepted, taking the smallest bedroom. That sent Renee to the airy open-plan living part for what she needed to do today.

As Renee worked, she heard feet hammering up the fire escape. Soon, Dinah and Helena, both sweating in lycra, slid through the window. Helena helped Dinah inside, smiling at her goofily. Renee shook her head a little. As roommates, Dinah and Helena gone from punchy to handsy to all over each other. Dinah wasn’t spending much time in her own bedroom. After three nights in a row of the new lovers’ noises, Renee was sleeping with earplugs in.

Helena stared when she saw what Renee was up to. “You’re ironing?”

“What’s it to you?” Renee snapped. She held up a garment in each hand. “Help me out, here. Brown pants or black?”

Dinah rolled her eyes. All sarcasm, she said, “Twenty-five years on the beat gave you a great sense of style.”

Renee pointed at her with the brown pants. “I got two formal looks. Don’t push it.” 

Helena was still gaping. “Why are you getting dressed up?”

Renee switched off the iron. Crankily, she admitted, “I’m having dinner with Harley Quinn.”

Helena’s expression cleared. “Harley gave me my family’s bank account number off that diamond. So we’re friends now, right?”

Dinah snapped, “Harley’s still the craziest female supervill in Gotham. That includes Alice. And she stole my car!”

Renee folded the pants. “Helena’s got a point. We’re the best funded female vigilantes in Gotham thanks to that wild card. Harley wants to see me chew with my mouth open, it can happen. She’s probably got a tip for me. If it wasn’t on the level she wouldn’t be bringing Cass around. Cass’ll hang with you while Harley and I shoot the shit.”

Dinah sighed, hands on hips. “I do want to see if Cass is okay. Like, really okay. And Harley… if she’s trying to be allies, or whatever, can you get my car back off her? I liked that car.”

“I’ll try.” Renee settled on the black trousers, dark as her intuition. Because Dinah was right, too. Harley was crazy and selfish, smart and dangerous. In more ways than one.

It was an awful irony that Harley had been the last woman to touch Renee in a personal way, repeatedly. Throwing her into a pile of garbage. Grappling her out a window. Lacing her into a spare armored corset. Scooping Renee’s damn tits into place before cinching her in. Saving Renee’s fucking life, because she would’ve been shot through the gut if Harley hadn’t forced the corset on her. All that made it hard for Renee to say no to the former Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Resigned, she took her ironing back to her room. Time to get ready. 

* * *

After sundown, Renee let Dinah and Helena walk her to a street corner a few blocks away from Helena’s. A yellow convertible pulled up. A smiling Cass tumbled out, rolling over to Dinah right away. Renee, in black and white, got in. She immediately got glitter on her black trousers. Goddamn it.

Harley was as demented as ever, hair bouncing in two bunches above rhinestone chandelier earrings, her usual mess of silver necklaces, and a ludicrous hot-pink suit. “Buenas noches! Did I say that right? You look swanky. An’ hungry. Let’s go find some eats.”

Renee fastened her seat belt and adjusted her one silver chain. “Got anywhere in mind?”

Harley giggled. “I do. It’s a surprise!”

Harley didn’t take Renee far. Helena’s place was at the upper end of Gotham’s Little Italy, where it blended into the classy part of uptown. Harley drove them to the other end of Little Italy, up against the harbor, where it got sketchy again. Harley squeezed into a barely legitimate parking place. Right over them, a neon sign from the 1950s flashed erratically: ALBERTA’S CLAM HOUSE.

Renee stiffened as they walked into to the notorious mob joint. The place looked modest, all dark walls, white-cloth tables and high padded booths. Renee smelled rich food, rich cigars, spilled wine, icy air conditioning: power and indulgence.

They were ushered to a booth at the very back. Renee found it hard to track where they were going as she took in Harley’s outfit. A femmed-out suit, like Renee’s ex Ellen used to wear all the time, was one of Renee’s weaknesses. But Harley’s big, boxy jacket had its hem right above the bottom of Harley’s ass. And that was important, because Harley was wearing pants that, despite their wide, swishing bellbottoms, were like cut-out chaps around the tush and crotch. All Harley had there was a black-and-chartreuse set of transparent panties. Jesus fucking Christ.

Sitting down, Renee relaxed, slightly. It was difficult to see the door from here: which meant the door couldn’t see them. The tables were full of Gothamites and Jerseyites out on a spree, snapping photos for Instagram, pretending to shoot each other with finger-guns. Seeing Renee watching, Harley said, “Don’t worry. If you’re lined up for a hit, you get a table, not a booth. Easier cleanup.”

A silent old waiter came by and slid things onto their table. Ice water, bread, steak knives. Renee asked, “This palace got a menu?”

Harley laughed, throwing her head back. The sound and her rhinestones scintillated together, like a fall of breaking glass. “Menus are for civilians. They’ll bring us the works.”

As Harley said it, the waiter came back. Each of them got a tumbler filled with a red cocktail. A plate of the world’s tiniest bruschetta was set between them.

Harley drummed her feet under the table. So far, so good. The more Harley looked at Renee, the more she liked what she saw. All that wavy hair, her wide painted mouth over her crisp, tailored clothes. All right, all right, Harley had a type, mouthy authority figures with some mileage on them, but Renee was one of the good guys. That made it okay to indulge.

The older woman frowned at the Campari aperitif like it had insulted her personally. Then, she picked it up and drained half of it at once. Putting it down, she said, “You figured out I’m a drinker.”

Harley ran her fingertip around her glass. “You did show up swacked to a fight with me. Don’t get me wrong, I take it in a way that’s complimentary, that you couldn’t wait to throw down.” She drank the way Renee had, with less success. After a dainty cough, Harley added, “I admire your fortitude!”

Renee raised her eyebrows.

Harley waved. “My metabolism’s a li’l different – being besties with Poison Ivy has its pluses. She had a little anti-toxin formula so we could make time together. Means it takes three drinky-winkies to add up to one drinky-winky for me.”

“Poison Ivy.” Renee drained the second half of her Campari, smoothly. “Doctor Pamela Isley. Any news about her lately? GPD hadn’t heard much.”

Harley leaned in. “I was gonna ask YOU! Sometimes she likes to get tropical. But it’s been a couple of months, and…” She sat back, suddenly deflated. She missed Ivy. The caper with the Birds of Prey had made her miss Ivy more.

Renee picked up a tiny bruschetta. “Is it true about you and her?”

Harley nodded, reached for her own bruschetta. “Besties with benefits. When she’s in town.” She popped the little bit into her mouth and gave Renee a big, saucy wink.

Renee’s expression didn’t change. But she did eat her bruschetta. It was a start.

The moment both their glasses were empty, the waiter swept them away, to return with their next course. It began with two glasses of prosecco. Then, a cold antipasto platter – olives, melon wrapped in prosciutto, roast peppers, slivers of hard cheese and bread, an entire fresh mozzarella cheese.

“It’s all so beautiful!” Harley’s voice was pure Gotham Bowery as she said it, _beee-yooo-diful._

Renee said, “You’re from Gotham.”

Harley grinned. “I sure am. I love this town. Nowhere else is as fun. Did a few jobs in Metropolis, I swear they roll the streets up at night there.”

Renee forced herself to not smile. “Never sleeps here. It’s why I stuck with the cops so long.” Also why she hadn’t left Gotham, after everything that had happened to her. That would’ve felt like surrendering. She forced down the urge to talk about it. _Stick to business, Montoya._

“You got any business in mind? Showing up in a suit and all.” Renee asked.

Harley preened back a lock of hair. “Awww, you noticed. I got a business card! A new one. Here, before I get serious on this nosh.” Renee accepted a card from Harley’s black-and-white fingertips and tucked it into a side pocket.

This done, Harley gleefully attacked the food: sucking olives, nibbling cheese, licking melon juice off a finger. Her hunger was at odds with her wiry paleness, those porcelain cheekbones. Renee could see every tongue-flutter and swallow. By the time Harley folded a ribbon of prosciutto suggestively, Renee knew she was in trouble. Whatever else went down, it was clear Harley Quinn was just her type: a smart, pretty girl who didn’t give a fuck.

After licking her lips, Harley said, “Grab your knife and let’s do the burrata. That’s the big cheese there. You ready? One…two…three.” Together, they sliced.

 _“Dios mio,”_ Renee muttered. Thick cream oozed from the slits they’d made. Harley handed Renee a slice of bread, and used another piece to soak up cream. Renee remembered that she should eat, too. Even though Harley hadn’t answered her question.

Renee had to admit, this was a good chance to study Harley’s brand of madness. She’d suspected for a while Harley was crazy like a fox – when it suited her. That it was more than half a show. When Harley dipped her head as she ate, Renee saw the ace of hearts on her cheekbone. When she smiled, it stretched out her other face tattoo: ROTTEN.

They did enough damage to the platter that the waiter took it away. He came back with more: glasses of rose, bowls of pasta. Harley tilted her head. Each bowl held black linguine and crimson tomato sauce, curled around steamed clams – and a few baby octopus, juicy and grotesque. Harley prodded one with her fork. “Poor li’l cephalopod. This pasta’s like something my ex would order in.”

“The Joker,” Renee said. She stabbed an octopus. After the ex-cop had dispatched her mouthful, she asked, “What did you see in that freak? You were smart. Educated. Beautiful –“

Harley fluttered her lashes. “Why, thank you!”

“Then you threw it all away for Gotham’s Clown Prince.”

Harley gazed into the tangled mess on her plate. “Mister J had a way of making a gal feel crazy…in a good way. I see what wasn’t right ‘bout it all now. That I didn’t have to be with him to feel free. To know that I mattered. I’d tell ya how I grew up,” Harley’s eyes tightened as she sipped wine, “but a sob story was how Mister J dropped a line on me.” She pushed her plate back.

“That’s something.” Harley watched as Renee spiraled up a forkful of pasta, ate it without a drop of crimson going astray. Some appealing tongue control, there. Renee said, “You on the side of the angels now?”

Harley had to laugh at the idea. “What gal is in this town, ‘sides you and your dinky do-gooders? Catwoman? Ha! I’ll tell you something. With Roman outta the way, I picked up some of his territorials. Lotsa folks want enough crazy on their side to keep the real scum of Gotham off their back.” 

“I’m a dame who keeps busy. But I ain’t no angel.” Harley gave Renee _that_ smile: the one that made most of Gotham back away. Renee only stabbed her pasta again.

When the waiter returned, their glasses were empty, but neither of them had eaten much. Harley said, “Wrap this up. I’ll take it home to Brucie.”

Harley’s mouth watered as the waiter put the next course down. This was the business. Bitter garlic greens and roasted potatoes were the sidekicks to a spectacular Florentine steak, ribeye and porterhouse on the same bone, grilled black. “Will you look at that! Three fingers thick and full of juice. Just the way I like it.” Of course, Renee went for the wine again. Harley tried it herself. It was thick, iron-heavy stuff, dark red as her lipstick.

Harley reached over and forked up some steak. Inside, it was silky medium-rare. “Crusty on the outside, perfect on the inside. Nice. Reminds me of something.”

Harley took a good mouthful, let Renee suffer while she waited to hear. “Since we’re getting all personal, here. Harvey Dent. Two-Face. What was all that with you and him?” Harley tilted her head, waiting to hear what Renee said about that other criminal, half-scorched and half-handsome, kind or cruel based on the flip of a coin.

Renee darkened. “Another fucking Gotham nutcase. Problem with Harvey is, he’s only half crazy. There’s something there. Or there used to be. I ran into him on a case. Thought I could turn him around.” Renee shook her head. “My shitty mistake. He fell for me, kidnapped me. When I told him I wasn’t going there, no matter what, he framed me for murder and outed me.”

“I remember the papers! I thought you were inspirational!” That didn’t seem to cheer Renee up. “It’s different now. Being queer is the last a’ anyone’s problems.”

“Tell that to my folks,” Renee said. “They’re still not talking to me.”

Harley’s eyes widened. That was why Renee had said they were all so great together, after taking out Roman. Why she was letting the other Birds of Prey follow her lead like ducklings. She was being the parent she hadn’t had to those two losers. Not that Harley was going to say it.

Instead, she said, “Well, I want you to know, I didn’t tell my apprentice about any of that.”

“Cass, you mean.”

Harley nodded. “I told her you were a super cop and she’d better watch her back ‘round you.”

Renee had to work harder to hide her smile, this time. “Thanks.” She finished her wine, then started to load her plate. Harley gave a little nod. A solid course would sober Renee up – but not too much. Having the super-cop shellacked after dinner was going to suit Harley just fine. And if Renee liked it pink and tender, Harley had something else for her soon.

This time, they finished most of the food.

Renee couldn’t believe it when the waiter came back with something that still wasn’t dessert. At least it was a salad. Ribbons of yellow and green zucchini in pools of dark balsamic, strewn with hot-pink petals. Renee didn’t listen to the waiter explaining the ‘orange’ wine. Instead, she glanced from the food to Harley. Had Harley picked this to match her loopy carnival-colored self? Renee would believe it.

Four drinks in, Renee was loose enough to ask, “Why are you _like_ this still? A circus act. Pussy out. The whole enchilada.”

“Black leather was taken,” Harley said, deadpan. “Catwoman, Batgirl, the other Batgirl, Nightwing. To say nothin’ of Roman and crew.”

Renee glared and began to eat her vegetables.

Harley giggled. “I said I’d spare you the sob story. All I’ll say is I did everything right, got spanked by nuns, went to school, and for what? To shuffle papers and take notes on lithium zombies at Arkham Asylum? I was inside ‘the system’ and it felt like… a joke. A sham. A big game. If it was, why shouldn’t I play to win? I wanted the big time. With Mr. J, I was on the edge of the spotlight. Now I got it for myself. I eat and I fuck and I make piles of money and crack jokes because…it’s fun! If that makes me a circus act, I don’t know why everyone doesn’t run away an’ join the circus.”

Renee didn’t know what her face said in response. But Harley leaned in, suddenly mournful. “You don’t like that?”

Renee spun her wineglass. “It’s not that. It’s… I was trying to do…something like it. God forbid a woman’s a good cop in this town.”

Harley squeaked, “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Renee huffed.

“We’ve got things in common.”

Renee said, “Such as?”

Harley counted on her shiny fingertips. “We both wanted to be the best. I’ve got my apprentice. You’ve got the Birds. We’re both responsible grown-ups…”

Renee barked with laughter, then stopped as the waiter intruded yet again. Harley hushed, too, shooting Renee sparkling looks. “This is the house special for dessert here.” Cannoli. Each oval-ended pastry tube was filled with ricotta cream, topped with a suggestively placed sliver of blood-orange peel. On the side, they got thimblefuls of blood orange liqueur.

Harley swept up her liqueur glass. “This is why I like you, Renee. You got a sense of humor.” She lifted the tiny glass in a toast and downed it.

Renee nudged her glass back, in the smallest toast possible. “I don’t have a sense of humor.”

Harley grinned, a defiant hyena. “You do. You do and I like it.”

Renee glowered. “Say that again and you get a spanking.”

Harley tossed her head. “Ooooh, Officer!”

Renee said, “I’m not an officer any more.” She sounded sad but calm about it.

“Sister Superior, then,” Harley quipped.

Renee’s eyes narrowed. “ _That_ takes me back. You Catholic?”

Harley stroked one of her ponytails. “Half Catholic, half Jewish.”

“Double the guilt?” asked Renee.

“Ain’t that the truth!”

They’d been destroying the cannoli as they bantered. Renee was relaxed enough now that, like Harley, she was eating with her hands. Harley couldn’t resist. “Ooooh, you got a little cream. Just…there.”

Harley leaned over and swiped Renee’s black lapel with one finger. Then, she sat back and sucked her finger clean. Slowly. Renee’s face at that was a picture, glowing with anger or…something else.

Before Renee could figure out what to say to Harley’s tease, their goddamn waiter returned for the millionth time. This seemed to be the end. They got espresso, the world’s tiniest cookies, and a glass flask of clear liqueur. Sambuca _con la mosca_ , with three coffee beans at the bottom. The waiter poured so skillfully that each of them got a glass with a coffee bean in it.

Harley dumped three sugars into her espresso. “Before we start swapping nun stories, are we pals now?” She widened her grey eyes at Renee as she sipped, like a little girl with a hot chocolate.

Renee, who was rolling Sambuca over her palate, took a minute to reply. “I wish to Santa Maria it was that easy in this town. You said it yourself, Harley. You’re still a crim.”

“One or the other to you? I see why Two-Face liked you.” Harley fished in her Sambuca with the espresso spoon, ate her coffee bean. “I say, why be black and white when I can be livin’ in color? Everybody’s individual to me, every job. I can stay out of your way.” Her lips drooped as she said it.

Renee gritted her teeth to admit, “We gotta deal somehow. Things are going all right, except…” She sloshed the last of the liqueur into her glass, pointed to the coffee bean. “This is you. The fly in my ointment.” She downed it.

Renee thought that sounded good until she realized she’d sucked the coffee bean in and crunched it up as she drank. No wonder Harley looked thoughtful. Renee swallowed the last splinter and scorch of it and tried to get back to business. “Where’s the bill? What’s my half of this?”

Harley was guileless. “Oh, I never get a check here.”

“Nothing comes for free,” Renee frowned.

Harley swayed up. “Maybe I already paid, hmmmm?” Again her uneven smile, that hint of mayhem. She flung a handful of perfumed cash on the table, plucked up her doggie bag, and wriggled out of the booth.

Renee threw a few bills down and followed. To her annoyance, between the food and alcohol, she was perfectly drunk. In that floating, heedless state when this crazy, dirty city and what it had done to her didn’t matter. She let the restaurant blur around her as she followed Harley, that crazy, dirty broad, out.

Back at the car, Harley idly plucked away a handful of parking tickets from the windshield. She tore them to ticker-tape, flung them into the air. “Wheeee! A parade for us! What’s our route?”

Renee folded her arms. “Drop me off where you picked me up.”

Harley sighed. “O-kay.”

They drove back quietly. “Take a left here,” Renee said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Fuck. Without thinking, she’d sent Harley where she always parked – the service alley behind Helena’s building.

At the alley’s dead end, Harley stopped the car. “Scenic. You really know where to take a girl.”

Renee cracked. “What the fuck was this about? You want somebody shanked? What?”

Harley did a whole-body wriggle in her seat. “I thought…we had an understanding…maybe we could’a had another understanding…you are hot, y’know. But you’ve got the hero bug.” Harley felt herself blushing. She was pansexual about expressing her unresolved need for parental affection. Why was it so hard with dames, though?

Renee simmered. “You thought I was hot.”

Harley perked up. Some more sweet talk, she could deliver. “Well, yeah! Like I said, you’ve got a sense of humor, you’re tough, all us crims watch our backs around you. Even if you got framed that one time I’m sure you killed some guys. What’s not to like?” Harley found herself fiddling with her necklaces, looking away. “All that and you’re good lookin’. But I bet all the girls say that to you.”

Renee stared at this gorgeous mess who was trying to be less messy. Trying, in her way, to give a little bit of a fuck. Who’d flirted with Renee, pampered her for once in her life, treated her like…what she’d said. A super cop. Someone in charge. Someone who could make a decision. _We’ve got things in common. We gotta deal somehow._

Renee undid her seat belt. “You still want a spanking?”

Harley’s eyes went wide as spotlights. “Does Batman have issues?” After a beat, she said, “That’s a yes!”

Renee inhaled. “Then get in the back seat.”

Harley squealed, hammered the steering wheel, and vaulted gleefully into the back of the car.

Renee, vision swimming a touch, was feeling less gymnastic. She had to open her door and tilt a seat back. By the time she joined Harley, the gorgeous freak was writhing coyly, nibbling on a fingertip. Harley, sprawled across two-thirds of the back seat, slid a foot between Renee’s ankles. She breathed, “Ooooh, officer, where do we start? I been jaywalking, shoplifting, assisting a minor in breaking a curfew…”

Renee reached over and grabbed Harley’s own lapel. Pulling it close, she stared Harley in the eye. “Disturbing the peace.”

Harley guffawed, “What even IS that?”

Renee shut her up with a kiss.

Harley closed her eyes and purred. This was more like it. Renee had her brakes off, pressing Harley’s mouth sweet and hard, then pulling back to nibble her lower lip. She felt the former cop’s hand tracing along her throat, under her necklaces. Harley reached up and pinged her own chandelier earrings off. When Renee let her breathe, she said, “Now ya got full access.” And tumbled back against the back seat’s Naugahyde.

Renee jammed her knee between Harley’s legs and knelt up. Just feeling another woman’s skin, after so long, had her hot and breathless. She slid her hands down and opened Harley’s blazer. Harley was topless beneath it. Her outfit hid most of her tattoos: she was pallid perfection against the leopard-print lining of her jacket. One of the priceless treasures Gotham’s villains couldn’t keep their hands off. Renee went for Harley's pale, swollen nipples. Rolling them between her fingers made her mouth water. Harley arced her spine, squealing more. “Oh! Keep adjustin’ my dials and you’re gonna get a real good reception.”

Renee inhaled again, roughly. “Turn over.”

Instantly, Harley bounced onto her knees. She squirmed more when Renee hoisted Harley back, to straddle her own lap. Harley knew her behind was framed perfectly against her cut-out trousers. “You’re strong for a shortcake,” Harley said. “OH!” Renee had smacked her, good and hard. Harley bit her lip and arced up.

Renee let loose. This wasn't a nice girl, somebody who loved her. It was a sassy, bitchy, half-crazy criminal, who was loving every minute of Renee whaling on her tight ass. Harley ground back into it, yelping like a hyena in heat, until her full moon was glowing and Renee's hand was stinging. It ended with Renee rubbing the panties stretched tight over Harley’s crotch.

Renee didn’t want to ask her next question, but Harley had been around. “If I fuck you am I gonna get clown herpes?”

Harley collapsed with laughter. Reaching into her hot-pink blazer, she pulled something from a pocket. Renee caught a plastic bag with more plasticky things inside it. “Here you go. No cooties for you.”

Relieved, Renee smoothed a black latex glove over one hand, ripped a lube sachet open with her teeth. “Get ready for your cavity search.”

“Ooooooh, yes officer!” Harley flipped herself over and splayed her legs.

Harley was a dirty talker, and Renee gave her plenty to talk about. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Renee. Get right under my panties. Ream me out nice an’ hard. Can I have another finger? Please, pretty please, officer – oh oh _oh!_ You’re stretchin’ me, spreading me out, y’hear how wet I am for you? So fucking wet. I knew you’d be good. I knew it. Ah shit! You found my g-spot. Give the cop a promotion!”

Renee let Harley’s sweet filth make her mind blank, keep her arm pumping, until she started to cramp. “You need to shut the fuck up and come,” she said. Harley did, eyes flying wide, clamping down on Renee’s fingers with a shrill shriek, spurting fluid in the palm of Renee’s hand. Renee kept on until her squeals turned back to laughter. At that, Renee pulled out and away, catching her breath. Goddamn, that had been intense.

By the time Renee stopped blinking, Harley, kneeling up herself, had snapped a glove on her own hand. “No cooties for me either.” Her grin was evil.

Renee gave Harley a little shove back, to remind her who was in charge. “Hold up. If you’re cooperating with the authorites, get down and,” Renee inhaled, shuddered, “Eat me out.” She had never talked like that to Ellen, only to her bar pickups.

Harley’s mad eyes lit up. She whipped out a switchblade, flicked it open, and used it to peel the glove off her hand. Holding up the flat sheet of black latex this made, she stretched it tight, pressed it against her mouth. “Doctor Harley is ready to operate!”

Renee laughed, reeling. “Jesus Christ, give me a minute. I gotta unzip, here.”

Once she had, Harley attacked. She was taller than Renee, twining her trickster’s limbs all around, shockingly strong. Harley bit down Renee’s neck, making her shudder more, hot and cold. Harley then cooed into Renee’s cleavage. Renee smacked her to keep her from jiggling her tits. “You ain’t in the funhouse.”

“Sorry. Sorry. You’ve got such a great rack, I had a motorboat moment.” With that, Harley dove face-down into Renee’s crotch.

Everything came together for Renee. Harley’s bites and suction, blunted just so against the latex, both sides wet enough that the barrier might not have been there. The feel of Harley’s silky hair in Renee’s hands. Jamming her own hips up into Harley’s face, hearing herself gasp, raw and uninhibited, at the place between drunk and sober where she could come again and again and again.

Harley gave a little gasp – tired, or in pain, or something. Renee’s eyes flew open. “You okay?”

“MMmmm still good,” said Harley, muffled.

“Not if you ain’t right. C’mon, sit up. You did me six ways from Sunday.”

Harley, obeying, stuck her tongue out. “Whooo, rubber. Wish I’d saved an after-dinner mint.”

For a minute, they sat side by side in the back seat. Renee had sobered up enough to peer into the rear-view mirror and wipe Harley’s lipstick off her own face. Harley’s bright, makeup-smudged eyes lingered as Renee ran hands through her hair, made sure her shirt was buttoned up straight. Finally, Renee broke the silence. “I gotta keep this on the down low.”

Harley chirped, “I can do that. Hey, you like Chinese food?”

Renee glanced at Harley, brow raised.

Harley delivered. “Somebody else owes me a dinner. Swankiest Szechuan food in town. If you’re in the mood for the works.”

Renee’s mouth twitched with another smothered smile. “I’ll try it.” They both got out of the back seat. Harley shimmied once, did up two buttons. That was enough to get her mostly decent. In the alley’s shadows, her nipples still dented the front of her blazer.

Harley drove Renee back to the pick-up spot. While Harley texted Cass, Renee got out of the car and waited. When Harley was done, she said, “Watch it out there. You got a kid you’re looking after.”

“Aw, I promise. Ciao, officer!” She watched Renee head up the block. Renee didn’t look back, even when Cass jostled by her. Harley chuckled. “Disturbing the peace.” What a card!

Harley popped the car door for her teenaged apprentice. “Hey, hon. Didcha have a good time?”

Cass, sleepy-eyed, fumbled for her seat belt. “Yeah. Neither of them ever played Dungeons and Dragons before, either.”

Harley shook her head. “A deprived childhood leads to complexes and taking on too much responsibility. I bet it was a therapeutical experience for ‘em.”

“Dinah played a bard and Helena was a barbarian warrior out for vengeance.”

Harley giggled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I told Helena, she could be human or she could be an orc, and that being an orc was cooler. So we split the difference and rolled her a half-orc character…”

Harley hit the gas. As the wind whipped their hair back, Cass burbled on. In fact, Harley decided, the kid seemed to have a crush on Huntress. That was kinda cute, as well as developmentally appropriate. Cass and Helena were about the same age psychologically. Like herself and Renee, Harley thought, smugly.

Mmmmm, Renee. Harley had been absolutely, deliciously right about her. The good cop wanted to stay casual? That was fine. Made it easier for Harley to tease her. Harley had already decided on a morning-after T-shirt to send her. One of the ones for that hardware brand, Strap-On Tools. This was going to be _so_ much fun.

Harley was so relaxed she was even driving within the speed limit. That didn’t last long, because an armored truck screamed by them, followed by a low, black car Harley knew. Harley shrieked, “Paging Dr. Freud, see that? That’s the Batmobile!” Suddenly, Harley wanted whatever was in that armored truck, very, very much.

Grinning at the idea of swiping something from under Bats’ nose, Harley said, “Wanna chase some money, Cass?”

Cass snapped out of her sleepiness. “Hell yeah!”

Harley hit the accelerator. Whatever happened next was going to be fun, too.

Meanwhile, Renee drifted up to Helena’s apartment, brushing off glitter and sequins. Where’d they come from? Harley hadn’t even been wearing sequins. She’d been feeling – a lot, lately. Seeing what she could really do, freed from a precint desk and a badge. Flexing her muscles with the Birds. Now, this. It was all right. Made her think that maybe there’d be somebody else down the road.

Not Harley, of course. She was the definition of a good time, not a long time. The minute Poison Ivy sprouted up again, she’d be gone. For now, though… they could have that understanding. It’d help Renee sleep through Dinah and Helena’s billing, cooing, and screwing.

Dinah and Helena were waiting for Renee in the kitchen, like kids pissed off about Mom having a date. The counter was a wreck, covered with fluorescent chip crumbs, scribbled-on paper, and half of Dinah’s makeup.

Renee said, “How was the kid? I see you got some snacking done.” Helena guiltily swiped an empty Cheetos bag off the counter.

Dinah said, “Cass is a teenager. Snacking’s what they do. She’s…fine, considering. Another evening or two like this, maybe she’ll come to her senses.” Dinah tossed her golden braids over her shoulder, eyes flashing. “Did you get my car back from Harley?”

Renee said, “You do not want that car back. Trust me.” Not after the way they'd destroyed the back seat.

Dinah tapped fingers against the countertop. “Then what was it all about?”

“Feeling me out,” Renee said, flatly as possible.

Helena said, “Yeah? Did you feel her out, too?” Behind Helena, Dinah groaned, put her face in her hand.

Renee kept her poker face. “You could say that.” She took out the business card Harley had given her. It said _Harley Quinn & Associate - Badass Motherfuckers._ “We’ll meet up again sometime.” 

“She gave you that?” Dinah said, outraged. “She gave you that. I see why you didn’t even _try_ to get my car back – ”

Renee turned the card over and saw what Dinah had. Harley had dropped a sexy, messy, dried-blood-lipstick kiss on the back.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun canon fact - Helena Bertinelli’s apartment is on some maps of Gotham City. An ‘old brownstone on Moldoff Avenue’ that looks pretty swanky.
> 
> Sambuca _con la mosca_ \- ‘Sambuca with a fly’, liqueur served with a coffee bean in the glass.
> 
> Harley Quinn’s background – the movie implies she’s Catholic (The Nuns!) and _Gotham City Sirens #7_ confirms that she’s got a Catholic mother and a Jewish father. Oy vey Maria!


End file.
